


the first day of my life

by choose_joy



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Minor Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone), how Kravitz came to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choose_joy/pseuds/choose_joy
Summary: No one really knows how reapers are formed. One day, they just wink into existence in the astral plane’s nursery.(or: how Kravitz came to be)
Relationships: Istus/The Raven Queen (The Adventure Zone), Kravitz & The Raven Queen, Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	the first day of my life

No one really knows how reapers are formed. One day, they just wink into existence in the astral plane’s nursery. Sometimes, the nursery is full to brimming, hundreds of little souls in hundreds of little beds. Other times, the nursery is empty for centuries at a time. 

No one really knows why reapers are formed. Time is more or less irrelevant to a reaper; realistically, one alone could handle the scrying of all of existence. To be fair, it wouldn’t necessarily be fun or easy, but it could be done. For some reason or another, though, there always seem to be just enough reapers to comfortably get the work done.

One thing that everyone does know (at least, everyone in the astral plane knows), is that baby reapers are maybe the most adorable thing in the conceivable universe. No two are exactly the same— every race, every gender, every sexuality, every class is represented in equal measure. Their personalities vary just as much as the living’s do, and each one has their own unique approach to their line of work.

It’s widely believed that reapers are reincarnated souls. This could be true, certainly, but the Raven Queen has never confirmed it.

  
  
  


On the day Kravitz winks into existence, there are no other souls in the nursery with him. In fact, it looks as if it has been empty for years, a thick layer of dust covering everything except his crib. Kravitz, of course, recognizes none of this: he’s a newborn (newincarnate? newexistant?). Instead, he simply opens his mouth wide, exposing sharp little teeth already poking through his gums, and shrieks.

  
  
  


On years between batches of reapers, the nursemaids expend their time exploring other things— music, art, cooking, magic, sleep... the list goes on. It’s generally easy to gauge if a child will appear that year, and they’ve gotten quite good at guessing when they’ll have time off. So, on the day that Kravitz appears, it’s a bit of a shock. The majority of nursemaids have already left for their year of travel and growth; in fact, only one is still in the vicinity of the nursery when the shriek rings out through the plane. Cursing, she runs over to the crib, peering inside to see the most darling half-elf she’s every seen. Beautiful dark skin with a smattering of freckles covering him from head to toe, rosy cheeks, delicate pointed ears, tightly coiled black hair, and the stunning red eyes every reaper seems to be born with. He is beautiful. 

And he is so, so angry. 

Perhaps not angry. Perhaps tired, or confused, or uncomfortable. Regardless, he has no way to express this beyond his screeching, so screech he does.

With deft hands, the nursemaid quickly picks him up, shifting his ( _ tiny, so fragile _ , she thinks) body in her arms until his head is resting on the space between her shoulder and her chest, her left arm supporting his weight as her right arm rubs rhythmic circles on his back. When that doesn’t seem to quiet him, she bounces up and down a bit, pacing around the room. When that, too, doesn’t work, she begins to speak to him— phrases in infernal, little things like  _ hush, darling _ and _ it’s alright, little one _ . This seems to work for a moment, his screams quieting down a moment before kicking back up in full force.

This continues until, desperate, the nursemaid begins to hum a tune (the words long since forgotten, but the melody as beautiful as the day it was written). She’s not a good singer— in fact, she’s quite bad. She’s young, new to the astral plane—she hasn’t had the chance to study music yet—and she’s shy. While there’s no one around to tease her, she’s hesitant. Why would it make a difference, when the child already seems so angry?

Yet a difference it makes. The second her rumbling tone begins, Kravitz instantly quiets, his shrieking giving way to the quiet hiccups that accompany the heavy breathing of a child coming down from a particularly intense tantrum. Shocked, the nursemaid continues. The song isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Within minutes, Kravitz is purring softly (and isn’t that the most wonderful feeling in the world?) against her chest, eyelids drooping closed as his perfect little mouth curls into his first smile. 

  
  
  


The funny thing about reapers is that they have to be raised. Other occupants of the astral plane are particularly kind “previously living” souls that have been given a choice: join the sea of souls and rest for eternity, or join the mass of people living in the afterlife. Only about 1 in every 12 souls chooses to stick around, the rest choosing to rest after their lives. Those that choose to stay are given jobs perfectly suited to their needs and desires: some are chefs, some are trolley drivers, some are teachers, some are scholars. For some reason, though, reapers must come into existence in the astral plane as opposed to simply taking the mantle of the job. Because of this, there are plenty of systems in place to raise children into maturity— schools and homes and temples and everything else any child could want. 

(It’s also important to note that there are of course other children running around; indeed, any child that dies before they reach maturity is automatically granted the time to grow into the person they’d become in the astral plane, and then given the choice to continue that existence or join the sea. Many of these children choose to stay and take jobs in their afterlife. None, of course, become reapers.)

  
  
  


Kravitz is, overall, a very content child. He’s the only reaper to come out of the nursery in years, and continues to be the only one as he matures. He studies everything he can get his hands on: science (with a fondness for geology), mathematics, history, embroidery, languages. No one is surprised, however, by his announcement at age 5 that he is going to be a bard. His penchant for music is more or less unprecedented— each reaper has a fondness for something, of course, but none have been quite as attached to music as he. He spends every free minute composing little ditties in his head, or waving his arms in the approximation of conducting, or bobbing his head to a song only he can hear.

  
  
  


When Kravitz is 10, he’s sitting in the temple up the road from his chamber. A priestess is vaguely watching over him as she lights the candles around the room, but he seems content to make his papier-mâché raven beak on his own. That is, until he suddenly looks up and asks a question almost every reaper has asked before him: “what if I don’t want to be a reaper?”

The priestess, to her credit, does not so much as blink at the question, continuing to light the candles as she responds the same way she has responded for millennia: “when the time is right, the Raven Queen will give you a choice. It is yours to make. Until then, you must learn her teachings and grow, as any young person should.”

The answer seems to appease him, and he goes back to crafting the final touches on his project. The room remains silent for a few more moments, before he speaks up again. “I’m done with my beak. Can I go play stockade tag with the other children, now?”

  
  
  


Years later, Kravitz finally stands in the doorway to the Raven Queen’s private chambers. He doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting, doesn’t know how he’ll know to enter. Only that he’ll somehow know, apparently. He begins humming a tune (one of his own creations, this time), the melody washing over him until—  _ oh _ . So that’s how he knows. A little tug on his heart, and suddenly, he’s in a room.

Looking around, it seems to be a bedroom, but the second he tries to focus on anything, the scene flickers, as if it can’t make up its mind about what time period it is, or what room it’s supposed to be, or even the colors and shapes of the furniture and walls. In front of him, though, he sees Her. He knows it’s Her not because they’ve met, or because of the stories, or his schooling. He just Knows. Like the rest of the room, She’s impossible to focus on: one second, She’s a seven-foot-tall young elven woman, the next She’s a stout dwarven grandmother, the next She seems to be a small black raven. When She speaks, no words echo through the space. Rather, he just Knows them, just as he knows Her.

_ You’ve done well, my child.  _

“Thank you, my queen,” he responds, bowing politely as he’s been taught. 

_ It is time to make your choice, I believe. What do you wish? _

“My goddess, I am here to serve you.”

_ That isn’t what I asked, dear one. I asked what you wish, not what you think I wish to hear _ .

He pauses for a moment, choosing his next words carefully, “I know I’m meant to join your team of bounty hunters. I wish to serve you. But...”

_ Go on, little one. _

“...I wish to be a conductor. I wish to pursue music and create and inspire others. I know I shouldn’t wish something beyond my destiny, but I do. I’m sorry, my queen.” The last sentence escapes his mouth in a rush as his eyes shift to face the not-quite-floor below him. 

_ Hush, little bird. It is not uncommon to feel this way. You are your own person, with your own free will. You may be whoever you wish to be. However, I wish to offer you a gift before you choose.  _

“A gift?” asks Kravitz, confused. 

_ Of course, a gift. I give you knowledge of the future, to see where each path will lead you. You can taste both and decide which one is right for you, and I will not try to change your mind.  _

Suddenly, a rush of music fills Kravitz’s ears. An orchestra sounds around him— perfectly in tune, perfectly running through one of his own pieces. He can taste the bitter champagne of celebration, can smell the sawdust coating the stage before the stage manager gets the chance to sweep it, can see the thousands of lights blinking back at him from the audience, can feel... contentment. Can feel repetition, can feel monotony, can feel loneliness. Can feel fulfillment, in the same breath.

In the next second, Kravitz hears the crashing of waves upon a beach. He can taste something spicy on his tongue, can smell the sharp scent of arcane energy, can see... nothing. He can feel worry, and anguish, and frustration, and tiredness, and oh.  _ Oh _ . He can feel love. And  _ joy _ , coursing through his veins like a current.

_ You see, my Kravitz? You may choose whichever path you see fit. You will find happiness in either. I will not choose for you, you mu— _

“The second. I choose the second.” Kravitz speaks out in a rush. Blushing at his forwardness, he quickly corrects himself with a murmured “my queen.”

The feeling of Her laughter echoes through the chamber, washing over him with a sense of forgiveness. _ You choose well, my Kravitz. Very well. _

  
  
  


As the years pass, Kravitz grows into his role as a reaper. He does find contentment in his work— he helps those who need it, upholds the laws of his Queen, has time to continue to write music. Nevertheless, he finds his life (death? undeath?) to be lacking the joy he felt in his vision from the day he chose his path. 

He resolves himself to speak to the Raven Queen and tell her of his concerns, to perhaps beg her to let him follow the other path, as he gathers pink crystal around his incorporeal form while on his latest bounty. He must speak to her, there must have been something wrong. He thinks these thoughts until suddenly, he makes eye contact with the most beautiful being he’s ever seen.

The day he meets Taako, his heart explodes with joy.  _ Ah _ , he thinks,  _ this was what she meant.  _

  
  
  


No one knows how reapers are formed, or why they blink into existence the way they do. Well, almost no one. There are two beings in the planarverse who know why these things happen, and why they continue to happen.

From their place in their own little pocket dimension, the Raven Queen and Istus smile as a pink and blue woven thread joins an endless scarf.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "first day of my life" by bright eyes
> 
> this was inspired loosely by tansy's tumblr post and quickly spiraled out of control (you can read it here: https://tansyfandom.tumblr.com/post/190764839424/the-raven-queens-sunday-school-activities)
> 
> find me on tumblr at thisisadingdongblog!


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